


All of Me

by salatuh



Series: Everlasting Arms [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Lifestyles, BDSM Scene, Consensual Non-Consent, Corporal Punishment, Dacryphilia, Dom/sub, Genderfluid Character, Hopefully this is not as sappy as it sounds, Love Confessions, M/M, Masochism, Master/Slave, Or as scary as it sounds, Over the Knee, Polyamory, Sadism, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 02:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13354704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salatuh/pseuds/salatuh
Summary: A/N: I've been dying to write a follow-up scene to "Dirty Tricks" for a while, now. Here is John's punishment scene!A few things to consider. Everything that occurs in this fic is completely consented to by the characters, but if corporal punishment is not your thing, don't read!This fic might not make complete sense unless you've read the other two parts of this series, "Winter in Bloom" and "Dirty Tricks and Filthy Treats," so.... there ya go. :DA BIG thank you to Trinity Blaze and Brasspetal for reading this over for me! You both helped me work through some major blocks, and I couldn't get this done without your support. <3Enjoy the silverham wonders! <3





	All of Me

John stood still by the doorway, shifting his weight on his black stilettos before taking a deep breath and uncrossing his arms. He finally mustered the courage to shrug out of the trench coat and unclasp his corset.

Thomas carefully observed how he placed his heels beside his attire on the small chair beside the door. He watched Silver tap his lacquered nails at his sides in a tell tale sign of nerves. James had gained the same habit when he stopped him from biting his nails... Thomas smirked fondly. His boys and their anxieties, their bravery in obedience. He smiled and beckoned him with the crook of his finger.

John obeyed his command. Their whirlwind of an evening — his performance on stage, seeing and feeling James’ need for him around and beneath his skin, his admittance in Thomas’ car while on his back beneath them. And their words… That he was beautiful, that they were blessed…

He walked toward him with a small shiver through his slight frame. As soon as John stood before him, Thomas smiled up and took hold of his hands. Such cold fingers in a pleasantly warm room. He rubbed a palm up his boy’s arm and brought it to his  clean-shaven cheek, still covered in foundation and contour. John met his gaze and nervously chuckled in a snappish manner, the smile dropped from his face while he looked back down to the ground between them.

“Come here,” he quietly said. Thomas gently coaxed Silver to sit on  his lap. John’s legs bent at the knees. His arms were folded out in front of him between their waists. Thomas purred when John’s initial shifting settled. “Good boy, just sit here.”

John’s shoulders sagged at the sound of his Sir’s soothing reassurances. Yet... he felt so bare. He felt more bare than he did on that stage in front of a room full of eyes. He hadn’t been in this room for anything other than a lesson in high protocol alongside James. And while it was just him and their Sir now, he couldn’t help but feel this was an audience of one he could not play for. His anxiety-addled train of thought halted when a warm palm came and rubbed the back of his neck. John melted when Thomas’ other palm smoothed over his backside.

They sat atop a black leather chaise, a deep grey plush carpet lay beneath them. The room was a soothing shade of green, of a similar color to the dining room above. The air was a comforting warm temperature thanks to the fireplace Thomas switched on in the corner of the room. A large custom-made bed lay against the farthest wall; the mattress was covered with a black satin duvet. A metal cage area lay beneath it with a metal barred canopy above it, and plenty of suspension points hung around it. A St. Andrew’s cross stood by the wall to his left. John never felt so at home in a room he had only been in on rare occasion.

Thomas felt John’s sigh on his neck and a thick layer of tension folded away from his body like the shell of an onion. Thomas hummed and continued his kneading. He stroked through John’s sweat-damp hair, ran his fingers over his scalp, the back of his neck. He heard John’s quiet, stuttered hum in return.

“This is not something I had planned on offering yet, but I feel you need it. Am I wrong?”

John shuddered with his breath. Thomas scratched at the nape of his neck then gently tugged on a fistfull of dark locks until John’s mouth fell open on a gasp. His head went back in compliance, but he did not speak, rolling down into Thomas’ lap instead. Thomas firmly gripped his hip and halted his movements; he let out a throaty whimper.

“Do you deserve punishment, John?”

Thomas watched John struggle with himself — the tightening of his lats, the stiffness of his shoulders, the tautness of muscles beneath his palm. He struggled to open up, to reveal this part of himself that Thomas only now had begun to understand. Thomas ran his free hand soothingly over his skin until John began to settle over his lap.

John’s breastbone raised and lowered with each panting breath. “I-I’m afraid.”

Thomas’ brows furrowed. For a fleeting moment he thought to pull away, but then John shook his head and spoke again. “I’m afraid that I do.”  

Thomas released his grip on John’s hair and rubbed both palms over his back. He took a deep breath through his nose, held it, exhaled. He felt sweat sticking John’s abdomen to his hips, then nodded and spoke.

“This is your first punishment with me, isn’t it?”

John shakily sighed out, a blush rose from his cheeks to his ears. He gulped. “Yes it is, Sir.”

“Punishment is not play, John.” He let those words sink in. “It is not for fun, it is not intended for anyone’s entertainment.”

John dug his fingertips into his palm, imprinting it within his grip. An undercurrent of nerves traveled up his spine, spread to his toes, to the back of his neck, to the roots of his curly locks.

Thomas breathed out, he lay his palms flat on John’s round backside and kneaded gently. He watched John finally lower his head and sigh. Solemness flickered in his peripheries, but hope came and took hold in his chest. John would trust him, yes?

“Punishment is how we heal. The only way past something is through it. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Regret creeped into John’s skin, disappointment seeped deep into his bones. He had kept a large secret, yes, but it wasn’t out of spite. He was only trying to keep himself safe… Instead of trusting that Thomas and James wouldn’t judge him. And if he couldn’t trust them to understand, then at least he could trust them to listen, couldn’t he? John held onto Thomas’ words; this was not meant for harm. _Punishment is how we heal_.

He rolled his shoulders in determination. “Yes, Sir.” He bit his lip and looked up before releasing it.

Thomas stared into his deep blue eyes, watched his lower lip glisten wet with spit, red with the last remnants of his lipstick.

He smiled and lightly patted the skin beneath his hands. “Do you remember your word for release?” Thomas waited for John’s quiet “yes” before he nodded and kneaded deeper into his glutes. He held John’s hips and tapped the plug in his ass with both thumbs, he held back a smirk when John gasped and stilled. “And when are we in the space use it?”

Thomas’ gentle nudging of the plug sent jolts to that spot deep inside him. He groaned out in a mix of apprehension and arousal. “When you want to play, Sir.”

“Yes, that’s correct, love.” Thomas shifted them up on the chaise and scanned John’s form atop his lap. The fireplace’s soft amber glow glided over pale and tan skin; it melted them, and molded their forms into something new. “Do you accept what this means for punishment?”

“Yes, Sir,” John nodded and closed his eyes. “No safe words.” _No more hiding_.

They sighed in tandem. Thomas rolled his hips up while he pressed into John’s body. His skin prickled with anticipation of the threshold they were about to cross together.

“Good,” he breathed out and rolled his head. John’s own skin thrummed beneath his palms while he stared avidly and spoke. “Do you recall our conversation the last time we were in this room?”

He pulled his head back and looked into Thomas’ eyes. He hesitated, then motioned his head up and down like the creaking joint on a crane. Air shot out of his chest when Thomas’ palm sharply landed on his backside.

“Speak when spoken to; don’t forget your manners. It will only elongate this.”

John focused on the task at hand and not on the swelling heat emanating on his skin. He closed his eyes, brows furrowed in thought.

“Yes,” his voice cracked. He panted and swallowed before trying again. “I remember, Sir.”

“That’s better,” Thomas said with a light spank to John’s other cheek.

John choked on his breath. He found himself stilling, while he did his best to focus on the twisting emotional branches within; arousal and nerves, fear and anticipation, _yearning._ He sighed in surrender.

Thomas held back the urge to roll his hips harder up against John’s smooth skin; instead he opted to rub both palms over the round globes before him. “If you believe you cannot do something for yourself, you can do it for me.” Thomas leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Will you take this for me? Will you let me take care of you?”

He recalled Thomas’ soothing voice washing over him with those very words months ago... _“We’ll take care of you.”_ As soon as Thomas had said those words, he felt a sudden urge to flee. The very same fear he felt this evening had clung to him then. The only reason he hadn’t left the room that day was because Thomas had not given him permission to leave. But… John realized now, he didn’t ask to leave, either. And now a part of him, however small, held onto the hopes that Thomas and James wouldn’t find fault in this part of himself. That maybe, he was worth being cared for. That he was enough.

Would he take his punishment? That he felt he deserved? Yes. He needed it, John knew this on a basal instinctual level that he needed it. But more so, what lay at the crux of his true pure fear, was that even though he knew he needed it, he wanted it. He wanted this, this punishment he’d needed all his life.

“Yes,” John said. He bent his head at last. “Yes, Sir.”

John uncurled his fingers and laid open palms flat on his lap, then rolled rolled his lips over his teeth and pressed his lids shut. He went back in time to when he knelt beside James on the plush carpet beneath the chaise usually only reserved for their Sir. Thomas had sat beside them and pet both of their heads. He recalled leaning into the touch, eyes closed, breathing even, feeling centered for the first time in so long, if ever. And when he felt fingers nudge his own open palm on his lap, James’ soft grin greeted him in reassurance, he had stared at their tangled hands between Thomas’ feet. He had felt happiness. He let that moment settle over his skin like an armour of vulnerability.

Thomas roamed his palms over tan skin, over his shoulders, down to the small of his back, to the dip before his pale buttocks where the pink tint from his slaps began to fade.

He leaned forward and bent down over John’s shoulder. “Open your eyes, love.” He curled his palm under John’s quivering chin and tilted his face. “Tell me why you deserve to be punished.”

John obeyed despite his anxiety. He could be good, do as he was told. He could admit to himself, after these past few months under Thomas’ consideration that taking direction soothed him. _Open your eyes_ . Done. Now he just had to say _why_ he deserved this. _Why._

“Because I didn’t tell you.” Thomas looked into his eyes with a steady, open gaze. No judgement lay there. “I’m sorry,” he broke down, but he wouldn’t look away. Thomas rubbed away his mascara-stained tears with his thumb and nodded. “I’ve wanted to tell you— for so long I’ve wanted to tell you.” Thomas waited patiently for him to continue while John shook with a creaking sob. “I didn’t tell you because I was ashamed.”

Thomas dragged his thumb deeper into John’s cheek and wrapped his arm around John’s waist. He pressed his legs together and up, then waited.

John let out a small, wet, broken moan. The plug seated deeply inside him and jostled with the move in positions.

“I was ashamed… for how it made me feel. For how I feel,” John took a deep breath. “For who I am.”

Thomas bit his tongue, but he knew he had to press the issue. This was the crux.

“And who are you, love?”

John stammered and croaked.

Thomas pulled him closer instead and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “You can tell me.”

John opened his mouth. _We’ll take care of you._ Thomas made that promise. John just had to trust that he would keep it…

“I’m not— I’m,” Thomas rested their foreheads together. John rolled forward and sighed. “I’m not a... man, at least not _just_ a man.” John’s throat clicked. “In my mind, the lines are blurred. There are days I feel I was born in the wrong body, like this—” John placed his hands to his chest and stroked down. “Is wrong. And I need to feel more settled. I need to be more myself…” John trailed off and caught Thomas’ eyes; they were open and blue, deep and understanding. He focused on Thomas’ strong fingers rubbing into his tense muscles, relaxing them until his head lolled back. “I feel I am like a liquid that travels within a case of genders, tipping when it feels natural to...

“And I’m just so,” John took a shuddering breath and punched out a half-hearted laugh. “I’m so tired of hiding. I’m tired of feeling ashamed.”

Thomas stayed silent for seemingly endless moments. So many questions whirred through his mind. How long did John hide? Did he always feel this way? Was he ashamed because of society’s often glaring gaze? Did he fear that James and himself would be just as glaring with him? More and more questions, more and more unknowns filled his list of things to ask John, but not right now. Not yet. For now, he could do what John needed from him. What John was still afraid to admit — that maybe James and Thomas would have actually turned John away. The thought was nearly laughable to Thomas, but… not to his lovely John. Shy and bashful, but nevertheless brave and now open John…

“I’m not upset with you.” John sagged in his hold. “I’m… a bit hurt that you didn’t tell me, but I cannot be upset with you, love.” He watched John’s throat bob, saw his delicate collarbones rise and fall with each small breath. Thomas clenched his jaw and looked down at their naked skin. He held onto John’s hips and sighed. “You broke the rules.”  

John nodded solemnly. “Yes, I did.”

“Do you realize this? That you broke the rules by not informing me as soon as possible, that something was affecting your headspace?”

John furrowed his brows. “Yes, but I didn’t want to _burden_ you with this, this fucking problem of mine,” he shrugged. “I wanted to solve it on my own.”

“Ah, I see,” Thomas nodded and gripped his hips harder while John quietly moaned. “What’s the final rule, John?” John panted against him, Thomas felt his hardness press into his abdomen beside his own growing erection.

“I have a right to feel however I want, Sir,” John muttered nervously.

“Yes, you do. But?”

John swallowed and continued. “But my emotions are not to affect my service.”

Thomas stroked the top of his head and thrummed the fingers of his lower hand on John’s hipbone. “Yes,” He weakly smiled then licked his lips. Hot air brushed over his neck, but Thomas’ eyes held their ground. “Part of your service is telling me when something is upsetting you, darling.”

Thomas petted his head one more time then dropped his hands from their hold of him. “Lay down.” He shifted back up the chaise and cleared his throat while John slung over his lap. He watched his muscles clench and relax while he slid his palms back over his ass. “Good.” Thomas moved his thumbs over the plug, and pressed down.

John crossed his arms in front of him. He closed his eyes as ecstacy ran through up his spine as soon as his Sir shifted the plug inside him. He whimpered and pushed into Thomas’ hands.

Thomas’ chest rumbled while he continued his kneading. He felt himself leak between their stomachs, his skin prickled with anticipation. He took one last deep, cleansing breath, and held focus.

“You are going to repeat what I tell you to. If I ask you a question, I expect you to answer truthfully. Understood?”

John stayed as still as possible, heat pooled in his chest like liquid fire. He huffed through his nose and nodded. “Understood, Sir.” He gasped when nails bit into the crease of his ass, then keened as a zing mixed with pain and pleasure rolled through him. He felt so confused, so confused. Punishment was not play, correct? He took a deep breath. Punishment was not play; he had to trust Thomas to guide him through it. He was allowed to feel how he felt, he was allowed to be his true self, so long as he obeyed.

“How do you want to be addressed?”

The question caught him off guard. How _did_ he want to be addressed? While he felt relieved at finally admitting how he felt, so many changes overwhelmed him. John cleared his throat and replied. “I want to be your boy, still, for now, Sir.”

Thomas hummed. “Good boy,” he said. John softly preened under his praise while he ran a hand through his curls. “If this changes, I expect you to inform me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Thomas licked his lips and stared at the knobs of John’s spine. He trailed his fingertips over them, observing how John rose to the touch.

“Do you trust me?”

John breathed out a “Yes I do, Sir,” while a soft smile bloomed across his lips. He did. He trusted him.

Thomas grinned. Such a beautiful soul, encapsulated in a gorgeous chrysalis of flesh and bone. A soul that hid part of itself from the world, a missing piece, ever enigmatic and out of his grasp. And John was finally offering it to him.

“Good boy,” he praised. He rubbed his palms deeper into John’s rear. He curled his knuckles in and took a deep breath. “We stop when I feel you’ve had enough, understood?”

He waited for John’s nod and even “Understood, Sir,” before he finally relaxed into himself. Thomas stretched his toes out and rolled his ankles. John’s weight over his lap was reassuring and grounding.

John settled and waited. He was ready. But when the first smack landed on his rear, he gasped out in shock. White hot heat pulsed from his skin, he felt it melt into his muscles, then trickle into his bones. He bit his lip and groaned, but didn’t move away. If anything, he presented himself for more.

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek at the sight of John’s arched backside. He watched John’s toes curl into the grey carpet below, then settled a hand on the small of John’s back and raised his other palm.

“Who loves you?”

John shuddered. His shoulders tightened, his jaw clicked shut. The eyeshadow and foundation weighed down on his features like a damp mask and his arousal lilted away at the question. He couldn’t find the answer.

Another slap to his rear left him gritting his teeth.

“Who loves you, darling?”

John shook his head. His chest tightened, his throat was strained and clenching around his voice box. Tears fell on Thomas’ bare thigh while he shot forward with the power behind a blow.

“I love you,” Thomas admitted. His chest immediately grew heavy while he picked up his pace. Surely John knew this? Him and James had admitted as such to him before. He took pause after John shortly shouted with the last hit. “James loves you, too. We love you.”

John panted and wheezed beneath him. He moved his palm up to knead at the nape of his neck again, the sweat made his movements slick, but he held on nonetheless.

“Breathe.”

John sucked in a sharp breath as soon as he commanded it. Thomas lightly tugged on his hair and turned his head to face him until John’s cheek pressed against his thigh, wet with tears and sweat. His boy blew out through his nose and looked up with a furrowed brow.

“I want you to affirm something,” Thomas rumbled. 

“I love all of you.”

John's chest tightened. How many times had he heard “I love you” in his life? How many times had they loved only what he showed them? And now, when he finally opened up rib cage pulled apart and heart out and bare, John was asked to affirm it? He licked his lips and shut his eyes.

“You love…” he leaned up into Thomas’ hold and whimpered. “All of me.”

Thomas spanked him on the seat of his behind as hard as he felt John could handle, until John yelped but pushed hard into his lap, leaving a trail of slickness in his wake. He panted in unison with his boy and nodded. “Again.”

John simpered and gathered himself as best he could; he had to focus on the task at hand. Thomas’ command was the only thing that he could hold onto and make sense of in the stead of these overwhelming emotions.

“You love all of me,” he murmured, then cried out as three quick slaps landed in a row. His skin burned while his eyes leaked in a mix of fear, relief and admittedly humiliation... But he stayed the course.

“Louder, John.”

John keened at the order and hot tears spilled down his face. _No more hiding._ He took harsh breaths through gritted teeth and pressed his forehead into the leather seat.

“You love all of me — ah! Sir!”

Thomas tugged John’s locks and groaned at the sight of his slender neck on full display. He couldn’t help but grin in relief while his boy obeyed and took more punishing strikes. John’s reddening skin emanated a flaming heat beneath his palm that urged him to rub and knead until he bawled in a freeing surrender.

John shrieked louder and louder with slap after slap. Tears streamed down his cheeks until his face was a painting of black lines from running eyeliner and mascara. A fire consumed him, inside and out. It started in his chest and surged through his veins, it pulsed in his heart, low in his groin, and deep inside him where that fucking plug kept pressing insistently, shoving him to the edge. He was so close to the ledge and he feared he wouldn’t come back from it.

"Again, tell me again," Thomas ordered with a harsh resounding slap on the backs of his thighs.

Their shared arousals hardened and leaked between them with every squirming roll of John's hips from the blows. Thomas felt their impending precipice. It was too much, too much, but not enough all at once.

John groaned and bowed his back, silently begging for more.

“You love all of me,” he sobbed through clacking teeth, sharp and wet. But through his tears, John smiled; he felt free. Free from the burdening voices of his own mind, of his own fears, his own doubts that jabbed at him and hissed that he didn’t deserve to be loved. There was no point in listening to things not grounded in the truth of Thomas’ words, in the words he finally got the privilege to affirm. John floated while restrained, swam while struck. He breathed out while his eyes leaked freely.

"You love all of me, Sir."

Thomas groaned and thrust his hips. That grin split his face while he pulled John's cheeks apart and slammed his palms down once as hard as he could. John’s shrill scream bounced off the deep green walls in a cleansing release.

“That’s right, darling. I love all of you,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Thomas sucked in his cheeks and exhaled. He grounded John with one palm pressed to his lower back, then started his heaviest blows yet. “Every part of you,” he sighed in relief while John shouted through his sobs. To Thomas, he was singing a most wondrous operatic crescendo. “Inside and out. Your soul. Your body. Your mind. _Mine._ ”

"Yours," he cried, then lay boneless in his hold. The world melted away until he was brought back to reality with a hot palm holding his cheek. He came to straddle Thomas’ lap again and listened to warm steady heartbeat beneath his ear, familiar and ever present. He felt everything and nothing all at once.

“Mine to love, John. Mine to care for.”

John wetly sighed and leaned into Thomas’ chest. His tears began to dry, he sniffled and slightly slurred his affirmation.

“Yours, Sir.”

Thomas held him closer, arms wrapped around John’s back to keep him steady and secure. _His._  His to protect, his to support, and his to love alongside James. John’s stomach fluttered and pressed to his, finally giving him enough awareness to take into account the sticky spend between them.

John roused at Thomas’ light chuckle. He looked up in his haze through shimmering slitted eyes and glanced at his Sir with a quirked brow.

“I planned on fucking you senseless in the shower after this, but it seems neither of us are in the state to do so anymore.”

John dazedly stared down between their skin until realization clicked on like a flashbulb in his mind. He weakly giggled and pressed his forehead to Thomas’ collarbone, then hummed around a warm smile. He wrapped his arms around Thomas’ neck and softly grunted when Thomas lifted them up off the chaise and began traversing the stairwell.

Thomas cradled John to him while he opened the restroom door and turned on the shower. Calm overtook them while warm water trailed down their skin, cleaning the sweat and spend from their bodies. He loved John like this, still in subspace, flying but coming back to reality with each gentle stroke and scrub Thomas ran over him.

“So beautiful,” he couldn’t help himself from telling John while they beneath the shower's warm spray. His bright, genuine smile shone over his features while Thomas washed John’s last remaining traces of makeup. He ran his fingertips over John’s collarbones and up his neck then threaded them through his wet locks.

John quietly exhaled and melted into Thomas’ kiss, wrapping his arms around his back and leaning forward.

“I love you,” he breathed into his mouth.

Thomas smiled into his open lips and roamed a hand down to John’s bruised rear, lightly squeezing until he moaned.

“Yes, you do,” he replied and turned off the water.

“Always _so_ smug,” John groaned and followed his Sir’s nudge out of the shower space. He looked over his shoulder while he bent over the sink. “Thank you for loving me,” he whispered.

Thomas smiled and helped John into a matching robe; but even the soft fabric made him flinch when it scraped against his raw backside. After drying John’s hair with a towel, he flipped the bottom of the robe over and pulled out a salve of arnica and aloe from the side drawer. John sighed in relief while he worked it into his purpling skin, plug gone and put away for another evening or day.

He bit his lip then bent down to kiss John’s tailbone. “Thank you for allowing me to love you,” he murmured into his skin with the brush of his lips.

Thomas slowly guided them to the Master’s bedroom, where a gently snoring James lay bundled under a white duvet smack dab in the middle of their bed. John twisted around while tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He flicked his eyes back and forth between James and Thomas, silently asking which side to crawl into, since he normally laid in the middle whenever he slept over.  

Thomas murmured in his ear “Go on, other side.”

John nodded, then pecked his lips before untying his robe and laying it on the chair in the corner of the room and crawled in beside James. “I love you, too,” he whispered into his warm, freckled skin.

James hummed and scooted closer to John behind him with a rumpled puff of air between his lips. “Love you, Johnny,” he breathed. He opened his eyes to slits and smiled back to Thomas, who slid in beside him, then picked up John’s smooth hand and slowly kissed each one of his lacquered nails. “So pretty,” he mused while his eyelids slid closed, a small lilt to his lips. James hummed and nuzzled into the warmth on either side of his frame, pulling Thomas’ arm over his hip as well. “G’night, Tomtom.”

Thomas tiredly smirked over James’ sleepy head to John, those blue eyes bright and mischievous, happy. “Goodnight, loves,” he said, and nodded off to slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, comments calm my ever-anxious soul. <3 
> 
> I am writing this verse a bit like Memento; pieces out of order, but coming together with clarity over time. I hope the concepts in this fic were clear and understandable. 
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on Tumblr @silversexual so we can flail over Black Sails together!


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